The Nightingale and the Lark
by thepalehorsevictoria
Summary: Hawke is not a morning person. And yet, he persists... a short scene based on a prompt.


_**"It was the lark, the herald of the morn, no nightingale..."**_

If he could fall asleep and wake up every morning next to her, he would not ask for anything else.

Hawke was already sound asleep by the time he got in last night, and he knew she got about as much rest as he did, and so he did not dare wake her. Instead, he had eased himself out of his clothes and boots and relished in the soft sheets and her warmth as he pressed his chest to her strong back and curled up against her, and he himself was so tired that he fell asleep not long after that.

But when he finally stirred in the morning and opened his eyes, it was mere seconds before his cock stirred in arousal as he saw the sun spin glints of blue in her blackest hair and turn her bare skin into the richest golden color he had not seen since his last Ferelden sunrise.

He grazed over her tensed shoulder with his fingertips, watching Hawke's skin pebble in their wake, and then he dared further to nuzzle at the nape of her neck and kiss at the soft skin just above the chain of her necklace. He breathed in the smell of her short hair and let it tickle his nose - there weren't any flowers or spices in her smell - just her and it was the most mysterious and incredible smell he'd ever encountered.

She made a small sound and stirred, moving away from him. He almost took offence, but he remembered that it hadn't been very long since he started spending the night with her, and this was probably just as new to her as it was to him. That was okay. And her shifting onto her chest left the beautiful expanse of her back to his pleasure.

Four scars from arrows long ago, he remembers her saying they were from Lothering when the darkspawn overtook her village. The scars were thin and pale white now, and smooth to his lazy touch. A small round birthmark above her left hip that gave him a small grunt when he very gently pushed it, like a button. Amused by her muffled response from where she buried in her pillow, he tried it again, and he was rewarded with another grunt, but she didn't move.

He propped himself up on an elbow and ran the backs of his fingers against her side, enjoying the feeling of bands of muscle running through her back that allowed her to do so many insane tricks with her daggers. But most of his favorite parts of her were hidden from him now, and he wanted to see them and lavish them with his quiet attention.

He had an idea.

Hawke grunted again, louder this time, when he pressed into her birthmark once more and she turned away from him, onto her side, facing him. She mumbled something into her pillow and buried her face into it, shielding her eyes from the sunlight.

But her clavicle, her breasts, her waist, and those glorious hips that framed her sex were now before him, and his arousal stirred at the sight.

She hid her head under a pillow, and for some reason he felt compelled to check to see if she was awake before he wrapped his fingers around her hip, stroking the skin there with his calloused thumb. She was always so soft, and he loved the curve of her hips that he could not believe hadn't bewitched all of Kirkwall along with him. And her backside, round but firm, and thankfully free of the dark bruise from her last encounter with that dwarven smuggler he hated so much.

It took him considerable willpower to refrain from leaning over and taking a nipple in between his lips and suckling, and instead he had to content himself with the sight of the rosy peaks crinkling just from his breath nearby, which was nonetheless marvelous, but not the same as feeling them under his tongue and between his fingers.

He wondered if she was such a sound sleeper that she'd notice if he gently rolled her onto her back and coaxed her thighs apart to quietly lap at her sex, and if she'd, er, hold it against him when she did wake up. That precious thatch of black curls and the mysteries behind them would be the death of him, he was sure of it. He longed to unfold her there and learn what she liked, to taste her and feel the tiny tremors under her skin when she came.

His arousal twitched at the thought and he held himself at the base of his length, taking a deep breath to steady himself. He wanted to feel her around him, badly.

He sat up straighter, taking his weight off his elbow, and looked down on her as he pondered how he could make it happen. Maybe if he gently stroked her side and she'd warm up to his touch again, and he could coax her onto her back.

And he was jolted by a hearty bark from the other side of the door, followed by a whimper. He found himself very grateful that Homer didn't have opposable thumbs to turn the doorknob. But when he looked back down at Hawke, he swore he'd buy the mabari a large steak, for she had turned just so, with her legs slightly parted, and he groaned at the sight.

His one hand still around his cock, he quietly sprawled out and lowered himself down to the tender patch of curls and breathed in deeply, entranced by the light musk. And then he braved a single fingertip to gently nudge the soft skin around her pearl, rubbing the tender bundle of nerves with the slightest of touches.

"Cullen, I will _end_ you."

Anders could feel the blood rush from his cock to his ears in anger. _Of all the names for Hawke to moan in bed, it had to be the Knight-Captain's **she betrays us and don't say I didn't warn you** shut up, Justice, you know nothing about her _we demand an explanation_ and I demand a cat but you don't see that happening anytime soon would you just shut up?_ and why was his cock even harder now than before? He arched his back and craned his neck to look at her, to watch and see if her eyes widened in shock and embarrassment and maybe he'd let her explain herself before he stormed out, but Hawke was still buried under a pillow. Was she still asleep? He gently pulled aside a part of the Veil and reached into his magic, held his breath and lowered his head back down, close to her sex, close enough to smell her and he fought the urge to run his tongue against her. He listened for her pulse, his ear barely resting against the skin of her thigh, and he could hear her heartbeat was slow and even and she was indeed still asleep.

She was dreaming, and Anders felt the smoke of an urge billow and rise up in him.

His head bent down, he breathed in the light musk of her curls and deftly ran the tip of his tongue at the delicate line of skin at the juncture of her thigh. _Let's see you recover from his in the presence of the Knight-Captain, sweetheart **what are you doing?** go away I'm busy_. Hawke's hips writhed a little at his touch and there was a breathy sigh, but she did not move away, and Anders shook his head a little to move the hair out of his face before he licked at her again, this time a feather-light caress along the slit of her folds, and was rewarded with a soft moan. Once more, firmer, with the flat of his tongue against her, and Anders could feel her tremble ever so lightly right underneath her skin.

"Oh, _Maker_. Don't stop."

Anders couldn't help but grin against her petal-soft skin, and he disobeyed her, lifting his head up. She was definitely awake now, her green eyes snapped open and she craned her neck to meet his gaze.

And he had plans. "Good morning, sweetheart." Hawke whimpered lightly as he bowed his head back down to her sex, raising a finger to gently part her folds and lick again at the soft moist skin underneath. "Sleep well?" he felt her shiver at the rumble of his low voice against her skin, so close to her aching pearl, and he chuckled and hummed his approval of her twitches.

Hawke swallowed for air in between words. "Not long enough," she gasped, a hand reaching down to hold a lock of his hair and tug it lightly with her approval. "But if it means waking up to this _oh, Maker's breath_!" he pressed his lips down around her trembling bundle of nerves, sucking lightly, enjoying the fact that she couldn't finish a sentence if he had anything to say about it.

And then he reached into the Fade, and thought of the bright summer sun that made him sweat under the heavy Circle robes in Ferelden, and Hawke moaned at the rush of warmth that spread through her sex from his spell.

Anders could feel Justice churn inside him _**what are you doing? Why is she calling the Knight-Captain's name?** I'll get to that in a fucking minute go away I'm busy_ and his arousal was straining and rubbing against the sheets now and he couldn't take it any longer. Right as Hawke's back started to arch and lift off the bed as she began to ascend, the mage jerked himself upwards and away from her and the whine in her throat matched the one in his head, but he soon replaced it both of them with moans as he pressed into her. She was searing hot around him, and his previous devotions had her so wet that it was almost effortless to hilt himself inside her, and there was that face of hers that he could never get enough of, her face clenched in microseconds of pain as he filled her and then followed by all the pleasure in the world, the one only he would see-

_Or did he see it too?_

The anger boiled up to his chest and Anders watched his own hands press her down at her shoulders and holding her there before raking down her sides to push her hips down into the mattress, pressing himself up against her and his actions were rewarded with an unprecedented moan from her throat that made the smoke from the fire in his head curl and thrash in his lungs. Hawke opened her eyes and her lips were parted in awe at the stern look in his face, and it drove Anders to drive into her harder, the wood of the bedframe creaking under them and _**you will get the answers we seek** not now damn it_. Beads of sweat loomed at his brow, he was gasping for air, and she reached up to run her fingers through his hair but he snatched her wrist and pinned it above her so close and _let's see if her bloody Templar can do this **her Templar?**_ and the thumb that was bruising its grip on her hip moved to her pearl and he whispered into the Fade and thought of the storms that rampaged through the valley between the mountains in the Anderfels and a spark of electricity shot through her and up her spine and Hawke shouted as she finally ascended, the smile permanently etched on her face and feeling her tense and writhe around him and Anders was done for, and his seed was boiling as it shot through.

He fought the urge to collapse and nuzzle at her neck and tell her how much he loved her. He was still too angry. Anders reached back into the Fade and found a memory of the first time he took a deep breath of fresh air after he escaped the Circle Tower, and fought the shiver up his back as the rejuvenating spell coursed through his veins and his cock stiffened inside her.

Her eyes shot open wide, and her lip trembled.

"Can Cullen do _that_?" Anders whispered, pulling back slowly and straightening his back, leering down at her, tendrils of blue smoke at the very edges of his vision.

He was not prepared for the strong squeeze of her heat against him, or the cocky eyebrow she raised with the grin on her lips.

"Thought that'd get both of you riled."

_Original prompt from the kmeme: "I'd love to see LI attempting to sexily wake up Hawke in the morning and being cockblocked by Hawke's less than stellar moods in the morning!" I started this enjoying the relative anonymity of the man in bed with the Champion, someone tagged it as Anders, I was toying with Cullen, but then, hey look! A chance for a little angry lovin'._


End file.
